A dream and a flashback

Diana was a young woman the first time she saw Philippus beat her mother.

"Thirty three, thank you mistress!" Hippolyta called out.

Diana had grown up being told she looked like her mother. Hippolyta was tall, powerful, and curvy, with thick black curls laced with small patches of grey. She possessed a timeless beauty, carrying herself with command and poise.

She was Diana's hero.

And she was being degraded.

"Thirty four! Thank you mistress!" She cried out.

Her mother, usually so powerful, so commanding, was bent over a bench in a clearing of the forest of New Sparta, naked and bound. Her ass striped with red lashes. She moaned and begged as the paddle traced her sensitive flesh where she'd been struck.

"Please mistress," she begged.

SMACK

"Quiet whore," Phillipus commanded.

The darker skinned woman stood powerful and commanding; she wore lace spun from spider silk carved like battle armor. The outfit pushed up her breasts and made her legs go on forever. She wore thigh high boots with large pointed heels and was made up like fire. Diana had never seen an animal wear so much color. So much power.

She struck Hippolyta once, then twice, as she circled her. Her stilettos click clacking on the stone floor as she circled.

"Thank you mistress! Thank you mistress!" The queen cried out.

Phillipus held a wooden paddle in her right hand, lacquered dark mahogany; elaborate symbols were carved into the wood, symbols searing into her mother with each strike. Diana watched Phillipus raise it once again and ask.

"What kind of queen gets off on getting beaten?"

"The whore kind," Hippolyta groaned. "The queen of the whores mistress!"

Phillipus struck and Hippolyta came apart screaming thirty eight.

It was the weekend of Nemoralia, the festival of Torches; an ancient tradition celebrating the goddess Artemis, mistress of hunters. Like all ancient traditions the Amazons had celebrated before their divorce from the world of men they had altered it, molding it to suit their needs, their history.

Diana had never been allowed to participate.

"But mother I am an amazon grown!" She had protested every year since childhood.

And every year the same answer. "You are too young little one. Much too young."

And every year Diana would try anyway.

Slipping from her chambers the moment her 'babysitter' looked away, sneaking through moonlit grottos, streets and hedges in search of the celebration she was denied. And every year they'd track her down and haul her back into her rooms before she could get far.

The first year it was Io, the second year Antiope, the third Mala.

The older Amazons had begun calling it the Consolation Game; a teasing nickname for the chase and capture of Diana that had become her yearly consolation prize.

It was a game she hated.

It was a game she'd become very good at.

It was a game she'd finally won.

From the bushes and cliffs of New Sparta Diana watched and listened. Below her her sisters giggled, laughed, moaned, and begged.

Diana felt her eyes grow wide, her mouth grow dry, her heart race.

Debauchery was everywhere. Women suspended like dressed up game; powerless before the caressing touch of their fellow Amazons. Others dressed up like dear; ankles tied to thighs so they were **** to waddle about on knees and elbows. Still more were bound to tables and coated in fruit and honey; which women took turns suckling off them as they giggled.

Diana pushed her hand between her legs, entranced while the women who raised her frolicked and cavorted to excess. She'd never seen anything like it. Never imagined...

She watched as powerful Mala took a doe by the ears and pushed her between her legs.

She watched brave Nubia kiss wise Antiope who moaned and strained on leather bonds while dilligent Io bit her nipple and worked two fingers between her legs.

She watched Phillipus pull out a small lacquered rod and fuck her mother.

"Is this what you need you whore?" Phillipus hissed as her mother whined and screamed. "You need to be fucked? To be penetrated?"

"Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Fuck yes mistress!" Hippolyta panted. "Yes I need it! Yes I need it! Please fuck me! Please fuck me!"

Diana could hear flesh clap against flesh while Phillipus pivoted into her mother; driving into her harder and harder and harder.

"Whore! Slut! Shame!" Phillipus cried out as she assaulted Hippolyta's ass. "I bet you liked it when Heracles **** you didn't you? I bet you begged for it!"

"No! No! No! Noahghhh!" Hippolyta cried out, climax forcibly washing over her.

Diana's fingers stroked her clit, pinching her nipple. She was getting closer. She was getting closer. Teeth on her lip. Blood on her mouth.

She wanted to take those bitches, those whores and push them between her legs, clamp their mouths onto hers. She wanted to come.

She was going to--

Her mother began to sob.

"Shush my love, shush," Phillipus soothed, petting her mothers hair; pulling her into a fierce hug. "Shhhhh, it's alright. It's alright."

Hippolyta wept, leaning into Phillipus' touch, her caress.

Phillipus' air of command was gone. Replaced with affection, love, calming words, soft touches, light kisses. "You are safe my love, you are safe. You are loved. You are safe."

Around Diana amazons embraced one another, in passion, in lust, in love and care. Some wept, some screamed, some came.

It went on like that until the morning.

"Ours is the philosophy of loving submission Diana," her mother had told her when she was young.

"That is stupid mother," Diana had responded. "I shall submit to no one. I am my own creature and I am stronger than all others."

Hippolyta had smiled and pinched her cheek.

"Even the gods have someone stronger than them little one, and no one is anyone without others."

"Psh, so I must submit to others?" Diana had pouted. "That is stupid pupid mama."

"Stupid pupid little one?" Hippolyta had asked. "Who taught you such language?"

"Nobody," Diana had said grinning. "I am my own woman and I use my own words."

Hippolyta had laughed. "Perhaps, but know this," she said crouching to look Diana in the eye and kiss her on the forehead. "No one who seeks to rule should do so without the urge to serve. Understand."

She thought she had.

She wished to serve. To do good, as any good Amazon should.

She had never been allowed to do so in the games, or festivals or ceremonies of Paradise.

They let her fight. Compete. But never serve.

For a long time she thought that she may, one day, be able to. When she had proven old enough, mature enough. But year after year passed and that day never came.

Now, in man's world, she realized why. She had been raised by Hippolyta and all the Amazon's of Themyscira since she was a child. She would always be a child to them, and including her in their service was one step too far for the warrior women.

So Diana had been left adrift, forever an adolescent in a world of immortals. Until Steven, until the war, until Wonder Woman.

An opportunity to serve.

To give.

To grow.

And that was what it had been, these years of fighting in Man's world. And Diana had thought she'd understood what her mother meant. "Loving submission." She'd never submitted, but Steven could attest to her loving authority.

She had never submitted.

And then she woke up in the back of an ambulance.

She had defeated Giganta, she remembered that; that poor woman, gifted, intelligent, beset with self doubt and self disgust. Her friend Barbara was injured but stable. The young boy in her room was cowering but secure. She had been preparing to see to their injuries, but unprepared for a sneak attack.

It was a oversight. Embarrassing.

And something more. Something stranger. More impactful..

She woke in the back of an ambulance, a man and woman startled as she sprung back to life.

"Wonder Woman?" A young Asian American first responder asked. "Are you--? We checked your pulse but weren't sure what knocked you out?"

"I am not sure," Diana responded. A strange feeling washed over her. And she wasnt. A strange feeling washed over her. A feeling of... Uncertainty? Paralysis? Anxiety?

The man next to the young woman began to ask questions Diana did not hear.

She looked down at her arm. "Jack Jordan, Information. Circle. Important. Find me," written in ink on her forearm in decaying hand writing. "Jack Jordan. Important. Find me."

A terrible feeling fell over Diana.

Certainty.

Submission.